


melt with you

by thirstaidkit



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Artists, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Co-workers, Competence Kink, Complete, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Hand & Finger Kink, Idiots in Love, Sculpture, glassblowing AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:15:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23765206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thirstaidkit/pseuds/thirstaidkit
Summary: Luke Skywalker's glassblowing studio is run by his nephew, Ben Solo, who has been doing things his own way for a long time. When Luke hires newbie flameworker Rey to be Ben's assistant, no one is prepared for the way things start to heat up!
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo
Comments: 65
Kudos: 134





	1. Prologue: Gathering

**Author's Note:**

> There will be a lot of technical terms relevant to glassblowing in this story, which for once, takes place in a world I know intimately. I will include a glossary at the end of each chapter as needed.
> 
> [](https://imgur.com/egs9bRE)  
> 
> 
> Thanks to the very talented [@liquidxsin ](https://liquidxsin.tumblr.com/)on tumblr, who I commissioned to make the cover art for this story and who really delivered! Check them out and show them some love!

_I should never have come_

The thought crosses her mind for a second as she approaches. The man is imposing-looking. Tall, and big. Broad shoulders visibly test the elasticity of his cotton tshirt, which on second look seems to read “There’s No Crying in Glassblowing.” Intense, too. She could feel those dark eyes on her from the moment she had opened the door of the poorly labeled studio in the warehouse district to which she’d been directed. He is frowning at her. 

_Is it me or is it hot in here?_

She’s sweating and she can’t tell whether it’s the heat of the furnaces or her nerves and the way that this guy is _looking at her how can you go around looking at people like that_

_Is that legal?_

It occurs to her that she probably ought to be saying something by this point, that **words** would be appropriate right about now. She forces some out.

“Luke. Luke sent me. I’m Rey.”

They land badly. He is rude, standoffish. “Luke might own the place, but he isn’t here. _Luke_ doesn’t actually work here, contrary to popular belief. I don’t know who you are, he hasn’t said a word about you, but I’m the hotshop manager so I’m who you need to talk to about...whatever it is you need.” This welcoming speech finished, he waits for a response.

“You must be Ben. Your uncle said you’d be...what was the word? Oh, yeah: **Prick** ly. Seems like he had it _most_ of the way right.” She says, emphasising the first syllable of the word, blood rising.

_You need this job, try to make friends._

She takes a deep breath, tries to walk it back. “Mr. Skywalker hired me. To be your assistant. He said not to let you scare me off. That you needed someone.”

“Well he was wrong. How long have you been blowing glass?”

“Um.” It shows on her face, the _I was hoping you wouldn’t ask that right away._ He rolls his eyes. 

“ **Seriously**? He sent me someone that doesn't even _blow glass? A complete beginner_? You’re of no use to me!” He storms off, through the shop. Rey follows, hastily, determined not to let that be the last word. 

“Not a _complete_ beginner! I’ve been flameworking for six months. Besides, I’m a quick study. And anyway, you’re stuck with me because Luke is your boss and he says so.”

“We’ll see.” Says Ben Solo, confident in his ability to drive anyone off. _She won’t be any different._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the title refers to the first step in the glassblowing process, when you collect all the lovely melty stuff you're going to work with on the end of a steel pipe. Since this little intro was all about bringing the players together and setting up the premise, it felt appropriate. This won't be a plot-heavy story, and as yet I have no plan regarding length either. We'll see where these two idiots and the glorious wealth of glass innuendos that exist end up taking me.


	2. Blow.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> glassblowing is sexy.

The first room, with its shelf of large vessels and threadbare vintage couch, is meant to be a gallery of some sort. It’s poorly lit, though, and fails to properly show off the work; which she has to admit, is beautiful. _Is this all his_?

Through the entryway behind the counter is another room - the source of the pervasive heat. This is where the magic happens, and once she gets a chance to look around, Rey is excited in spite of herself. The furnace is huge; a roaring two thousand degree behemoth that looks homemade. When she cracks the door, a blast of heat smacks her in the face, making her skin redden and her eyes feel dry. 

“Don’t play with that.” Ben is loading pipes into the warmer. She takes one from him, inspects it. Four feet long and an inch and a half wide, the steel feels balanced in her hands, like a fencer’s sword. There is a glossy crust of leftover glass fused to the far end. She twirls it, experimentally. He snatches it back out of her hands and replaces it in the warmer.

‘I wasn’t playing, I was looking. Flameworking doesn’t use all this equipment.”

That had been the appeal - it was an accessible way to blow glass. Sort of. She had spent her savings on a small torch she’d gotten secondhand from someone on facebook. All she had needed then was the glass itself, a few small tools, and a propane tank. As long as the weather had held out, she had worked at a metal card table in the yard of her apartment building, figuring it was no different than grilling burgers. That was how she’d met Luke, who had stopped by to talk to her a dozen times before revealing that he actually owned a glass studio here in town and was looking for help. She had jumped at the chance - she couldn’t exactly bring her setup inside, and once it got too cold she wouldn’t be able to work at all. Now that she was here, though, she wonders:

_Am I in over my head_? 

The more she looks around - at a wall of kilns all set to different temperatures (if the numbers on their LED displays were any indication), at the reheating furnaces spitting flame into the room, at the way the rest of the employees (all somehow ridiculously attractive) were working together in teams so harmoniously that their movements seemed choreographed - the more she feels that **this** and what she had been doing are not the same thing _at all _.__

__It seems to be an opinion Ben shares._ _

__“So you’ve only worked with boro?” It was only nominally a question. She nodded. Borosilicate glass was Pyrex, and as much as she _hated_ that he was right because of his dismissive tone, it didn’t change the fact that he was. “This is a lot softer. It melts at a lower temperature, it stays workable for longer, and it’s more sensitive to temperature shock. Door.” He was standing in front of her, holding a pipe - a different one, hot already, the end of it glowing red as he held it at waist level, turning it in his hands…  
__

__“ _ **Door**_.”_ _

__He almost barks it, more insistent this time, and she starts. She opens the furnace door for him and he slides the end of the pipe into the too-wide crack and the molten liquid beyond it._ _

__“Close.” He nods to the door and she responds, tightening the opening around the pipe as he steps in, shockingly close to both Rey and the blistering heat emanating from inside. He smells like sweat, yet somehow not unpleasant. They stay there for a moment, still - only his fingers moving And then -__

____

“Open.” The moment is over and in one swift movement, he has gathered a massive amount of glowing material in a perfectly balanced, viscous glob on the end of the pipe and stepped away, gently dancing with it as it rotates in his grip, the mass of glass glowing and swaying and _alive_.

She watches, hypnotized. Until - 

“Shut. The fucking. **Door** .” The furnace is open behind her, absolutely screaming as every burner fires, trying in vain to keep it at temperature. It’s a wonder she didn’t feel it. She hurries to push it shut before following him to the bench, where he’s seated himself. The pipe spans the bench’s two steel rails; one to either side of where Ben’s body is curled around the hot end as it hangs free to one side. With his right hand, he is using a damp wooden cup of some sort to shape the gathered glass. Where glass and wood meet, copious amounts of steam are released into the air, filling the studio and dampening the small tendrils of black hair that have escaped Ben’s samurai topknot. With his left hand, he is turning the pipe - not simply rolling it back and forth, but dragging, coaxing, _massaging_ it forward and back along the length of the rails. It works independently, this long-fingered hand, palm and fingers moving in concert with a rhythm and grace that are hypnotizing. 

Rey finds herself sitting on a steel table centered between the two benches, just watching him as he drops the wooden tool back into its bucket with a splash and stands, crossing with a step to the reheating furnace. Supporting the heavy end of the pipe on a heavy wheeled yoke, Ben eases the glass, cooled from white-hot to a dull transparent orange, into the glowing round orifice in the center of the concrete doors. Still turning the pipe with both hands, he glides it in and out of the depths of the furnace and Rey suddenly understands why these things are jocularly referred to as “glory holes”. The way his hips move as they subtly follow the glass is positively _lewd_. She is not ready when he abruptly returns to the bench and says: 

“I’m gonna need air." 

_Isn’t the room full of it?_ Actually, it feels remarkably as though all the air has been sucked out of the space, but she is reasonably sure that she’s the only one who feels it. She hesitates. 

“Blow. On your knees.” He commands her, his voice deep and resonant. And without thinking about it, still unsure as to what he wants, aware that in any other context she’d never consent to being ordered around so brusquely - _well, **almost** any other context_ \- drops down at the end of the bench. 

Where it all suddenly makes sense. _Of course. It’s glass **blowing** , dummy._ So she puts her lip to the end of the pipe, which is still moving back and forth with a speed that makes it hard to follow and makes her fear for her teeth a little, and blows. 

Too hard, apparently, because almost immediately Ben is cursing, “Easy, easy! Slow _down_ , goddammit! Not so fucking _hard_.” and the bubble, already blown out past all hope of salvage, is thin and iridescent as soap. They both stare at it for a moment, this tangible evidence of failure, until with a single tap of Ben’s tweezers, it shatters into confetti and sprinkles to rest on the concrete floor. Rey sits in place with a huff as he rises, slams the pipe into the breakoff bin a little too hard, and stalks out the back, leaving her without a word. 

“You’ll get the hang of it. Don’t worry about him, he’s just bad at being a human.” says the guy at the next bench comfortingly. 

_Definitely_. She tells herself. _Definitely in over my head._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes, it's really called the "glory hole"  
> yes, glassblowing is the horniest of all the crafts
> 
> break-off bin - a metal box where you stick the hot pipes when you're done with them until they have a chance to divest themselves. As the glass cools, most of the extra will shatter and explode off of the pipe, so you just throw them in here til they're safe and you can heat 'em back up to use again. 
> 
> thank you for reading, I hope you're enjoying it! please feel free to shower me with love in the comments.


	3. Form

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you know what else is sexy? being good at stuff.

He doesn’t ask her to help him make anything else, but neither does he tell her to leave. So Rey stays, and watches, trying to stay out of the way. The guys at the other bench are making goblets. It looks complicated. She watches the way they communicate, more with looks and subtle gestures than with words. It’s like a dance. The gaffer leads this pas de deux - focused on the material, he pulls and teases it into shape. His assistant watches him closely, all but ignoring the glass itself, totally focused on his partner, whose needs and desires it is his job to anticipate.

_I can do **that**. She tells herself wryly. If only I had any idea what to do to satisfy them._

Ben has started working again, alone. Though he is skilled enough to make it look easy, even Rey can tell that the dance is both more complicated and simpler as a solo endeavor. Not having to rely on another means having to do everything yourself. But there’s no troublesome communication needed here, and he seems completely immersed in the process. Gathering, Ben opens and closes the furnace door with a bump of the hip. With absurd quickness and precision, he blows a puff of air into the pipe and caps it, letting the heat expand it and then releasing the pressure at the perfect moment to make a spherical bubble in the heart of the glass. Looking on, Rey feels exactly what he’d called her - _useless_.

Into the glory hole, and out again. In deeper, for longer, and out. He’s wiping his sweaty face with the waist of his t-shirt and _jesus christ is that an eight-pack fucking hell_

Then he’s back at the bench and turning, turning - broad shoulders curled over the pipe while the long fingers walk it back and forth as he brings it close and pushes it away again in an inexorable rhythm. His right hand is fumbling, squirting water onto a dense pad of charred newspaper which he then uses to shape the hot mass of glass, filling the studio with yet more steam and a smell like a campfire. Attached to the other end of the pipe is now a rubber hose, the length of which is wrapped around Ben’s neck, and he inflates and compresses the bubble simultaneously somehow and then it’s back to the glory hole and the paper has been discarded, steaming and knocked the water bottle off the bench. 

Rey darts forward and grabs it. The paper is burning a little, embers eating away at the surface. _Is it too soaked to ignite?_ She re-wets it for good measure, replaces the bottle. Looks up.

He’s looking at her again, expression unreadable. Inclines his head in the tiniest of nods. 

The cycle repeats a couple of times, until he’s satisfied with the shape. The business with the hose looks tricky; cumbersome. She uses a similar one for torchwork, but there, with no pipe and the glass a couple of inches from one’s face, it makes more sense. Here it just seems to want to get caught on things and disturb the smoothness with which he handles the glass. It’s a juggling act, this solitary glassblowing. She can see it when he tries to open one of the glory hole doors to accommodate the now much-larger vessel - using a long steel rod with a hook on its end, he has to catch a peg on the top of the door to swing it outward, while balancing the piece (still turning) in his other hand. For a moment she fears it’s gotten stuck, but he maneuvers it deftly out of danger. He heats it again for a handful of seconds and then - 

He hangs it up and walks away. 

_What is he doing? Can he **do** that?_ She’s pretty sure the whole thing will just explode if he leaves it there, peppering the room in hot shrapnel. But he’s back at the furnace, gathering again. Moments later he returns, and Rey is holding her breath as he replaces the piece on the bench, where with confident movements he rapidly lines it up with the small fresh gather and fuses them together before grasping the place where the glass joins the pipe with a tool, lifting the whole ensemble, and tapping the pipe back down on the rails with a _tink_ that announces its separation from the piece. By the time she breathes again, it’s back in the hole, the pipe rolling aimless and alone on the rails. 

“Can you get that?” 

He nods at the pipe, and she scurries to grab it and put it in the bin. She wants to ask how he _did that_ but some sense of propriety tells her now is not the time. His way clear, Ben returns to the bench and begins using something that looks like the world’s biggest tweezers to coax out the rim of the bowl into a perfect hemisphere. He makes it look so easy.  
Rey knows just enough to appreciate that the appearance is deceptive. 

With a precise touch from a cold steel tool to introduce a shock point, Ben breaks the bowl off of the pipe and onto a wooden paddle. He holds the rod out in her direction, wordlessly. She doesn’t make him wait this time, and maybe he’s capable of something other than blistering rudeness after all, because he says “Thanks” and smiles at her just a little.

It’s enough. She stays until they close up, helping where she can but mostly trying not to be an obstacle to be overcome. When the other guys (whose names, she learns, are Finn and Poe) invite her out for drinks after, she goes. Ben does not.

She pretends she isn’t disappointed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading, i'd love to hear from you in the comments!


	4. Heat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things start to warm up, and Rey gets doused with cold water.

She starts spending all her time at the studio, only coming home to sleep. She’s there early in the mornings, washing cullet, raking the bubbles from the surface of the glass, changing the water in the block buckets. She takes all the hard, boring, or gross jobs around the shop - anything someone will teach her. Most mornings, it’s Ben who opens. Unlike his coworkers, he doesn’t make an effort to explain things to her, but simply does the work in silence. She follows him around at what she deems a safe distance, absorbing everything, and wordlessly, he tolerates the little incursion. Soon she is beating him to work in the mornings, and by the time he rolls in, bleary-eyed at six a.m., the lion’s share of opening duties have been done and the furnace is roaring merrily. Eventually, he reciprocates by bringing donuts, which she devours. 

She likes these morning times, before the others have arrived, when the shop is quiet and dark, its bank of west-facing windows not yet lit up by the sun. In the dimness, the glow of the furnaces is homey and romantic, and the glass looks even more mesmerizing as she works it. Blowing glass at this scale, she discovers, is much more challenging than the others make it look. Her gathers are always uneven, too deep. Either her bubbles blow out too fast or she can’t pop one at all. Most of the things she makes end up in pieces on the ground. Those that do survive are depressingly ugly. 

She brings her torch setup in, hoping to gain some credibility with the others when they see what she can do. She likes to make plants - having grown up in the desert has given her a craving to be surrounded by green and growing things. Glass plants are almost as good as the real thing; a way for her to worship the beauty of the structures she finds so fascinating. She makes ferns, wildflowers, venus flytraps, cacti. The others like them, to her surprised delight. Even Ben nods at them with grudging approval. The fact that he’s so opinionated - judgy, even - only makes it mean more. 

There’s something about working with other people; the give and take of ideas and opinions, the ready commiseration when something goes wrong, the _teamwork_. She loves the camaraderie of the shop; the energy which makes work feel like a party. While they work, they blast music - rap, salsa, anything with a beat. Sometimes Poe will try to get Rey to dance. She never knows the steps. When certain favorites come up on the playlist, the whole shop bursts into song at top volume. For the most part, they welcome her with open arms. Almost every night after work, they go to the local for drinks. More often than not, it's just Finn, Poe, and herself. Phasma, who runs the front desk, thinks they drink too much. Ben is just antisocial. But Rey is having fun. 

“He’s only _mostly_ a bastard.” says Poe confidentially, draping an arm over her shoulder as he talks shit about the boss. 

“Mostly is still too much. Rey’s a sensible girl - she prefers nice guys, don’t you?” asks Finn. It’s unclear whether he’s referring to anyone specific. They’ve had a few beers and everyone is very slightly blurry. Poe looks at her appraisingly, a naughty schoolboy twinkle in his dark eyes. 

“Naaaahhh, look at her. You like a bad boy. I can tell.” She rolls her eyes a little. He’s not _wrong_. But she hopes he isn’t flirting. It’s not that he isn’t attractive - he is; they _all_ are. She’s somehow hit the hot coworker lottery. But any entanglements will complicate a situation that already feels too good to be true - besides, she’s holding out for the one she _really_ wants. Leave it to her to only be interested in the most difficult possible option; cold, aloof, uninterested. Maybe focusing on someone unobtainable feels safer, more manageable than the threat of a real connection. She has no reason to believe he might be the slightest bit interested in her. 

But then he starts to show up when she’s working. At first it’s just a word of advice here and there - “Work hotter,” or “flash it before it cracks”. Soon he’s assisting her, and so teaching her what he wants in an assistant. He knows what she needs before she does, and is ready with it. She never has to ask for anything. She reaches back for the block bucket, and the appropriate size is dripping in her hand. She turns to ask for air, and his lips are already pursed on the pipe, his cheeks blowing out round like a trumpet player’s. It’s how you control the pressure, she learns; blowing from the cheeks, not the lungs. He opens doors, standing near and with that deep voice, softly telling her what to do: how fast to turn, how deep to heat. He is a good teacher, even if it is a little hard to concentrate. 

She pays for one slip of concentration with a burn. The pain is instant as the side of her finger sizzles and goes white. It smells a bit like breakfast and it hurts like the devil and she screams and drops the pipe. 

Ben springs into action, scooping it up and disposing of it as he sweeps her into the cold shop without a moment lost. Agony makes her helpless, shuts down her brain except for a siren’s wail _OH NO OH NO OH NO_ but he is holding her hand under the flow of cool water, protectively caging her body with his own as she leans back against him unsteadily, in mild shock. 

When the pain dies down to a dull roar and she can see again, he steps back and grabs her a stool. “Get comfortable. You have to stay under the water for twenty minutes. He sits with her, distracting her with stories about Luke while keeping an eye on the clock. When the clock runs out, the burn is so much less severe than it had seemed before that she is mystified. It is, however, bad enough to stop her from working for a very long two weeks. Everytime she tries, the radiant heat makes her hand flare in pain again. 

It’s depressing. She hangs around anyway, trying to be useful where she can. To cheer her up, he invites her over after work. She tries to conceal her excitement, her stupid happiness at the offer of cheap beer and a Kurosawa movie. It’s not a date, nothing happens, but there’s a feeling like maybe something could. She has hope, anyway. 

Soon. it becomes a habit to split her evenings between the raucousness of “the boys” and the bar, and the quiet companionship of sitting on Ben’s couch, smoking a joint and playing a videogame where they duel one another with swords. They get very competitive with one another, and the trash talk and banter that ensue definitely _seem_ to be leading to something. 

That’s why it’s a real kick in the teeth when everyone is invited to Finn’s big opening at a popular downtown gallery, and Ben shows up with someone else.


	5. Anneal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When glass cools, thermal expansion causes a difference in the cooling rate inside and outside the glass. The resulting is thermal shock, which causes the piece to shatter. For glass to survive the transition from molten to room temperature (or vice versa) without cracking from the stress, it must be accomplished slowly. Annealing ovens cool glass slowly, at a controlled rate, over time, so that it doesn't explode.

She’s called Rose, Rey finds out; and as much as she wants to hate the girl on principle, it’s hard work. She’s as sweet and pretty as her namesake. She’s a sculptor too - in metal rather than glass. _Not as cool as glass_ , Rey tells herself pettishly - _Still, cool enough. And shouldn’t she be covered in grease and wearing overalls?_ She’s dainty, feminine in a way that tomboy Rey can't relate to; she has a hard time picturing her getting her hands dirty, or mussing her perfectly smooth, straight hair with a welder’s helmet.

She knows it’s jealousy, pure and simple. It doesn’t lessen the sting. She knows too that tonight isn’t about her feelings. Finn’s show is gorgeous and powerful and everyone is talking about it. It’s a coup for him, so Rey tries (too hard) to pretend like she’s having a great time so as not to ruin it with her sourness. She stays near the boys, trying not to attract notice, stuffing her face with cheese and crackers. She studiously avoids eye contact with Ben, tries not to look for him as they wander in and out of rooms looking at the art. 

Rey doesn’t want to see the tender solicitousness with which he bends to Rose, the way they whisper together, how good they look. They are a matched set, complementary rather than identical. Both have gloriously thick, shining black hair, but there the similarities end. Ben is dressed starkly in simple black, Rose is a riot of color and movement in a blowsy floral sundress. And then there’s the size difference: it’s extreme. Rose is tiny. _She probably can’t even kiss him without a stepladder_. From that line of thought Rey seques into trying to imagine the logistics of their sex life, and this way lies disaster. She drinks too many glasses of cheap pino grigiot, and makes out with Poe in the coat closet. 

“Let’s forget that ever happened?” she suggests as she staggers out from between the furs and camel coats.

“Sure thing.” he says cooly. He isn’t fussed about it. They go their separate ways. Over the course of the evening, Poe makes out with two other people in that closet. One of them is Finn. 

Rey ubers home alone and sleeps in her party clothes. When her alarm sounds next morning, she feels as though she’s been wrung out like a towel. Her head pounds, her mouth tastes like ashes. She still goes in, does what needs to be done around the shop. No one else shows up for hours as she goes about her business, chugging gatorade and sweating out the alcohol. She’s feeling a little better by the time Ben emerges from his tiny office off the gallery, wearing the same clothes he’d been in the night before.

“You ready to make something big?” _Is she_? Probably not, if she’s being honest with herself. She’s still a little shaky. Not that there’s a chance in hell that she’s going to say no. She just has to make the best of it and try not to fuck up. He eyes her critically. “You ok?

“Me? Yeah, I’m great.”

“You look a little….” _Don’t say hungover_. “Drunk.”

“Says the guy in last night’s outfit.”

“Where did you go, anyway?”

“Why are you acting like you care? I went home. Unlike you, _apparently_.”

“Of course I care,” he says dismissively. ”Seriously, do you need something to eat? This is going to be a marathon, not a sprint. I can’t have you passing out on me.”

“I wouldn’t say no to some eggs.” He takes her to a diner. When the waitress comes, he orders for Rey without pausing to ask her preference. She wants to be annoyed, but the sausage gravy and biscuits hit the spot so precisely that she can find nothing to complain about. They drink strong coffee and leave refreshed, 

“Better?” he asks as they’re walking back.

“Yeah. Thanks.”

“My pleasure. Did you have fun, at least?” she shrugs, noncommittal. 

“You?” He shrugs back.

“Finn’s stuff is pretty good.” he concedes.

“What did Rose think of it?” Rey makes an effort not to let him hear any animosity her tone when she says the other girls’ name, then immediately feels guilty for needing to.

“Well, if she wasn’t impressed, she did a good job pretending otherwise.” Rey looks at him, quizzically. By way of explanation, he says; “She spent most of the latter half of the evening in the coat closet with him and Poe.”

“What? Ohh. Uhh...sorry?” He shrugs again.

“It’s whatever. I mean, I’m not gonna cockblock her. We’re like family, I’m gonna forgive her, but like, if you’re only in town for one weekend it kinda sucks to blow off your oldest friend to go get some and expect him to just wait around while you do it so he can take you to the airport after.”

“So you’re not...I thought you were...you know... together.” He laughs as though he can’t imagine anything more ridiculous. 

“Did you see us together? Come on, she’d need a stepladder. Seriously, though, we’ve been friends since the cradle, she’s practically my sister. We tried once, in high school. It was a total non-starter.” She tries to hide her satisfaction at the news, but it isn’t entirely possible. “I’d been hoping to hang out with you last night, actually. I wanted to introduce the two of you, but I kept missing you.”

“Weird. Sorry you had to play chauffeur.”

“More like babysitter. All three of them were hammered. I don’t expect the boys will be in today.”

They get to work, and the prickly distance between them dissolves almost immediately. Before long the piece is larger than anything Rey has ever made. It starts as a vessel form, but around the time Rey starts expecting to be sent for a punti so that he can break it off and finish it by working on the neckline, it becomes clear that Ben has something else in mind. 

“Open.” She cracks the first level of cement door in front of the glory hole, using a four foot long steel hook, allowing him easier entry into the blasting heat. He holds the piece there for too long, she thinks, a suspicion that is confirmed when he brings it out. The form is caving in on itself, collapsing before her eyes. “Take it to the bench,” he orders her, handing the pipe off. She obeys, not understanding why. _Isn’t it ruined_?

Ben isn’t worried in the slightest. He’s standing to her left, now, outside the bench as he applies tools to the sagging, flattened bubble. Occasionally he says “Flip,” and Rey turns the pipe a half rotation to compensate for the sagging as he works. Every thirty seconds or so, he has her flash the piece in the heat. They work like this for an eternity. He uses cork pads, steel posts, shears, and torches to move the material little by little, one spot at a time, while she maintains the whole at the pace he’s set. It’s like a dance, of sorts. 

When it’s over, and the piece is in the annealer, there is a sense of elation, a celebratory air about the place. Rey whoops as the heavy door shuts on their triumph. She attempts a high-five; he pulls her instead into a sweaty hug, lifting her off the floor. And then it’s back to business as usual.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a punti is how you transfer the glass off of the blowpipe so that you can work on the other end - it's a heated solid steel rod, on the end of which you gather a tiny amount of glass. You then stick it to the bottom of the piece and the gaffer breaks it off onto the new handle.


	6. Cold Work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it's christmas in late june, kids. have some shameless fluff.

Later the next day when the annealer comes down to room temperature (or close enough anyway), she waits to see it unboxed with all the anticipation of a kid at a birthday party.   
It doesn’t even matter that it’s not her piece she’s waiting to see; she feels a sort of investment in and partial ownership of Ben’s success.

It’s a mask of sorts, though not one ever likely to be worn. Hard and heavy as the visor of a knight’s helmet, it is simultaneously brittle and ephemeral due to the nature of the medium. He is not finished with it yet, he tells her. This is only stage one. 

They make many more over the weeks that follow, perfecting the technique. The masks vary in size, color, transparency. They rehearse the steps again and again as fall wears on into winter, playing variations on a theme. When they aren’t in the hot shop, Ben spends long hours coldworking the fruits of their labor, in a rubber apron and a flow state that dares anyone around to interrupt it. With water to keep the glass dust safely at bay, he grinds and polishes each one lovingly into its final form. 

Christmas is fast approaching. Rey, who has no one to spend it with, is not looking forward to the holiday. It was the hardest time of year not to have a family. She hesitantly asks Ben what his plans are, and is surprised to learn he doesn’t have any either. 

“Really? What about your uncle? 

“I’m sure Luke will be with my parents.” He says dismissively, when asked. 

Never one to leave well enough alone, Rey wants more. “Why won’t you?”

“We don’t get along all that well. They didn’t want me to go into the arts. I was supposed to study law and follow my mother into politics. She’s a senator.”

“Oh.” Rey doesn’t know what to say to this. The best she can manage is; “I don’t have a family.” He eyes her closely.

“Look, don’t get me wrong. It’s not that I don’t love them. I just don’t want to spend the weekend being reminded of how I’m falling short of everyone’s expectations. I’d rather just work.”

“You’re keeping the shop open?” she asks, pleased. 

“Why not? I’ve got stuff to do.”

Christmas eve comes, and despite the fact that it’s already snowing hard, Rey goes in to work, like always. She isn’t surprised that it’s only she and Ben who have stayed. The others all have someone. What does surprise her is the delicious smell coming from the hotshop. It hits her like a mittened punch the moment she opens the door; warm and energizing. She is suddenly starving. 

“You can’t wear that in here.” he says by way of greeting, glancing up at her dollarstore santa hat. “Those things are flammable as shiiittt.” His long hair, usually tied back for work, is loose and wavy, a black lion’s mane. His tshirt bears an image of the Grinch, too-small heart clearly visible. She snorts a laugh, and gets rid of the hat. 

He’s got a quiche cooking in the annealer. It is, after all, just a big oven. And there is a minifridge on the premises as well. It isn’t so surprising a thing really, other than that he can cook. To Rey, who had never had enough to eat growing up and is now a passionate lover of food, this is a grail. They eat it off of paper plates, she at the bench, he on the floor near her feet looking up at her. It’s delicious. 

They play, making snowmen and christmas trees, even though they’d never sell them now until next year. When they finally take a break, it’s many hours later. Rey tries to go outside for some air and can’t open the door. Ben tries next, cursing and straining until finally it swings free, revealing chest-high drifts of snow. 

Chest high on him. On Rey, the ice ends at face level. Neither one has ever seen anything like it. It appears as though they’re going to be here for a while. They exchange looks. Ben goes to his office. He comes back with a bottle of bourbon. They drink a toast, decide to make the best of it.

“I almost forgot; I have something for you!” Rey announces. Too eagerly, she feels. _Pathetic, much?_ She presents him with the messily wrapped little bundle anyway, dragging it out of the bag she’d left out front. He unwraps it without a word to find a little glass figure she’d lovingly sculpted of his cat, Armie - a grumpy ginger tom that had shunned her when she’d first started coming over. Armie, like Ben himself, had warmed to Rey over time, and now he was very fond of her. Ben grins at the faithful likeness, done in great detail considering its scale.

“It’s my little buddy! I love it; it’s amazing. I’ve got something for you, too. Wait right there.” He disappears back into the office, returning a moment later with a long tube.

In it is a blowpipe. Brand new and shining, perfectly weighted steel that feels like it belongs in her hands. It’s lighter than the shop pipes, streamlined and sleek. 

“Merry Christmas.” He says, enjoying the way her face has lit up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you're enjoying this, consider checking out my other WIPs, which are nothing like it! and leave me some love in the comments, it feed me. thanks for reading!


	7. Collaboration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a pinch of smut. as a treat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've downgraded the rating on this from E to M as I decided the tone didn't lend itself to being more graphic than what I've done. Hope no one is too disappointed! Here is the happy ending you've been waiting for.

“It’s too much.” She says haltingly, knowing that the tool in her hands cost a hundred dollars at least.

“It’s really not.” _You deserve a lot more_ , he thinks. She hugs him fiercely, grateful and excited as she throws herself against him. Something happens, then, in the press of their bodies. Like a spark to dry tinder, there is an instant combustion in the space between them.  
It’s not an explosion; rather an implosion, and they are compelled to fill it, to merge together as completely as possible. 

Their lips meet and open to one another, tongues moving back and forth, exploratory. Hands graze over, cup, and massage flesh, fingers digging in with a pleasurable pain. Layers of fabric, interfering and unwanted, are ripped away hastily and the pile on the floor grows - an ugly Christmas sweater is only one of the garments discarded. The kiss deepens; they are too hungry to break apart now, to deny themselves this feast after the long famine. They are insatiable, and the thing they crave is _more_.

His mouth moves to her throat, her breasts, anywhere he can reach. Anywhere he can taste her. They’re on the couch, that orange velvet monstrosity. Ben’s pretty sure he’s going to have to clean cum stains out of it later. He’s beyond caring. Rey is straddling his lap in nothing but white cotton panties and colorful mismatched socks, grinding wantonly against him. He can feel the damp heat of her through his shorts. They give themselves over to what they’re feeling, indulgently; mutually aware of having wanted this for some time. _And after all,_ they think, _it’s Christmas._

Blizzard notwithstanding, they stay warm enough. In the afterglow, he teases her. “You really liked your present, huh?”

“You know that’s not why I slept with you, right?”

“Oh of course. Totally coincidence. Let it never be said that you put out for tools. That said, I’m SO buying you jacks for your birthday.” She punches his arm, he laughs, and then they’re at it again.

And again. 

And again.

Eventually the snow melts, and they emerge from their fuckpuddle to find the studio trashed. They clean up the mess they’ve made together, efficiently as any pit crew. Teamwork makes the dream work; and somewhere along the way, without either being able to pinpoint the moment when it happened, they have become a team.

It’s a lasting partnership. Over the months and years that follow, they perfect not only their craft, but the silent shorthand by which they understand one another until it’s as though they share one mind. Their collaboration goes beyond the masks; which get more elaborate as Rey embellishes them with ornate flameworked details. Whatever either of them does from this point on, the other has a hand in. Life and work merge, overlap. 

What they make of both - together - is beautiful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope the conclusion wasn't too abrupt for you! as always, I love to hear from you, either in the comments or on tumblr @onesharedbraincell. And if you haven't already, check out my other stories! I've got a few things on right now that I'm excited about, and I hope you will be too.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note from the author

Just a note to say that I’ve submitted this story to the reylo sandbox challenge! If you liked it and want to play in the sandbox, sign up here! 

https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Reylo_Sandbox/requests?page=2


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